


Barrel and Curtain

by bamkam



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Exterminators!AU, Locksmith!AU, M/M, Wrong Season Fic oops, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-05-27 23:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6304402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bamkam/pseuds/bamkam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton’s new in town, relatively. The owner of Hawkeye Extermination, the guy’s clumsy, got a strange love for signs, and suffers from constant foot-in-mouth. Not that any of that means Bucky is any less inclined to get to know him better, once the opportunity arises. In fact, he finds he's willing to do just about anything for one of Clint's gorgeous smiles. </p>
<p>But when a string of break-ins in the town square leaves the shopkeepers equally frightened and angry, Bucky has to decide how far he'll go for that smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bitting Time

**Author's Note:**

> I was actually afraid I was going to be posting a winter fic too late, but it snowed today so I'm using that as reason to post. Technically, this fic begins in December.
> 
> Also, the summary may or may not change at a later date once I actually plan out the rest of the story!

The snowfall didn’t begin until late at night, far past the time the roads cleared of cars and the lights turned off inside the houses. It raged on with a gratuitous force, accumulating quickly over roofs, trees, cars, until everything was blanketed in a layer of powdery snow. The line of lampposts, some covered enough that only a little bit of light shined through, illuminated the onslaught. Errant winds bustled the snow around, sending small puffs of clouds in every direction until the snow settled in haphazard little mounds all over, dotting the sidewalks and along windowsills. The small town was quickly covered within hours.

Its town center, a large square of road with a large maple tree in its middle, was likewise hit. Snow billowed around the square, masking footprints and even spreading across some of the surrounding store windows. It blew in-between the bare branches of the tree, snapping off a few twigs that hurl to the ground and stab into the snowy ground, their fingers pointing out to the various shops along the roads. The twigs were quickly broken, sagging underneath the weight of the falling snow.

Soon, though, it slows, the flakes becoming more pronounced as the flurries subside. As the sun rises, its rays make the settled snow glitter, and everything looks weightless, as if the outlines of trees and buildings are the only thing keeping them rooted to the ground.

It’s a breathtaking sight, Bucky decides.

In the morning, as Bucky got ready for work, the news was packed with warnings to drive carefully, walk slow, and dress warm. It almost made him leap back into his bed, grumbling about the lack of snow days for adults.

What they didn’t mention was how _beautiful_ everything looked, with the unblemished snow covering the red brick buildings of the town center, casting a sense of serenity that smooths over his sour mood. By the time he gets to work, Bucky can’t stop marveling at the scenery all around him.

He trudges carefully through the white powder to the back door of his shop, and brushes the snow off the door handle before sticking his key in. The keyhole is ancient, something that Bucky should probably replace eventually, but he’s mastered the method of seamlessly unlocking the door, and he quickly bustles into the building. It may be beautiful out, but it’s still freezing.

Outside, the ground and sky are so full of white, making it bright enough that Bucky almost doesn’t need to turn the lights on to navigate his shop. Instead, he makes his way through with the help of the glow coming in through his windows. He hums as he drops his keys and snowy coat on the worktable, savoring the quiet in his shop. Once he opens, the space will be filled with the sound of machinery and conversation as Bucky fills the orders for his customers. But, right now, the tranquility puts a lazy smile on Bucky’s face.

Turning the heat up on the old thermostat, he grabs his coffee, a delicious source of warmth in his hand, and makes his way to the front of the store. Steve closed last night, and as much as Bucky trusts him, his best friend is usually in too much of a hurry to lock up without straightening up, and Bucky often comes in to piles of metal shavings and a gunked-up cutter machine.

But the table is blissfully clean, which only adds to Bucky’s good mood. Sipping from his mug, he nods in appreciation when he sees that the keys are even hung up by size and function, something that even he doesn’t do for days at a time.

“Busy man,” he murmurs. It must have been slow last night—something Bucky will know for sure once he’s checked yesterday’s receipts—and Steve’s an overly-thoughtful friend, not to mention employee.

At one point, shortly after he opened, Bucky tried to make Steve a co-owner, out of gratitude for the amount of time and money his friend had put into his business. Steve staunchly refused; he didn’t mind contributing, but this was Bucky’s business, not his, he reasoned.

“Besides,” He said, smiling with a glint in his eyes. “You need this kind of responsibility.”

Bucky still rolls his eyes at that, but he let the matter drop. It doesn’t stop him from calling Steve co-owner in his head though.

The heat’s finally kicked in, and with his hot coffee and wool sweater, Bucky feels comfortably wrapped up, as if he’s still snuggled under his comforter. He may have not wanted to leave the house this morning, had even almost called Steve to open instead, but this feeling of contentment makes him glad he got out of bed.

Steve’s right; this responsibility, this _stability_ really is something Bucky needs.

He brings the rubberbanded pile of receipts to the front counter and is about to count them when something catches his eye through the front window. Frowning, Bucky moves to check it out.

The town square is absolutely picturesque, with the falling snow that covers the tops of the trees and rooftops of the surrounding buildings. A few cars drive by, but the roads are largely quiet, and only a few people are out walking around, enjoying the snow like Bucky was. So far, nothing seems to be out of the ordinary.

Then he finally spots it. Past the large maple tree, Bucky can make out a bright purple coat at the top of a ladder.

An incredibly wobbly ladder.

_Lord_.

“What’s he putting up this time?” Bucky wonders out loud in slight exasperation, sipping at his coffee. Across the town center, he watches as the man in the purple coat tries to hang a large banner above his shop window. He’s standing at the very top, leaning precariously to the left and the right as he attempts to fasten the corners. It’s making Bucky nervous, with how far the other man is willing to rock on the ladder just to get closer to the hooks. Below him, a girl in a lavender coat and matching hat watches, hands on her hips.

He’s talked to her enough times to know she’s probably yelling at the guy. Her name is Kate, and she had first greeted Bucky with an appreciative once-over and a plate of cookies when she stopped by his store. Bucky smirks at the memory; he likes her, she’s headstrong like he is.

The blonde, Clint, on the other hand, he’s only talked to once at a town meeting some months ago. He had just opened his business, and everyone had wanted to meet him. While Kate went around beforehand introducing herself and exchanging numbers, Clint knocked out greeting the other shopkeepers all at once at the meeting. Bucky had shaken hands with him, talked a little bit about his business, and then quickly moved back to his usual place at the edge of the crowd. He’s nice, a little chatty with a gorgeous smile, but that’s all Bucky really knows.

_And clumsy_ , he thinks, as he sees Clint nearly topple off the ladder. He’s saved only by clutching the brick surround on the window, though he drops the banner in the process. Bucky starts, little good that does for the other guy, and watches Kate run over to help steady the ladder. He swears he can hear her yelling from here, but she still hands the banner back up to the blonde.

It takes Clint a few more tries before succeeding, and Bucky watches the whole thing, draining his mug.

When it’s finally up, he has to shuffle over slightly to read the whole thing behind the tree, and he immediately scoffs.

_Now Is The Winter Of Our Discount Tents!_

“Is-is that a fumigation joke? _Lord._ ” he groans. Clint’s love affairs with promotional signs is no secret, he and the rest of the square had found out real quick. While everyone else uses them occasionally, Clint has a steady stream of them on his window, changing them nearly every third week. The ladder escapade is not the first one Bucky’s watched, and he’s sure it won’t be his last.

But the worst part are the corny messages. Those really get to Bucky. They’re _terrible_ , and they only get worse with each advertisement Clint puts up.

During the summer that he opened, they had a sign saying, _Holy Moley! Our New Location is Finally Open!_ Complete with cartoon little moles scampering around the text.

Shortly after that: _Don’t Avoid Those unwANTed Guests! Call Hawkeye Exterminators Today!_

One right after the other, and Clint has only been here for a little over six months.

But this one, Bucky supposes, probably slides into the top five of the worst signs he’s seen yet, though he does begrudgingly give Clint points for the literary allusion.  

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and when he pulls it out Bucky notices the time before he sees the text from Steve, and curses. He’s supposed to be opening in five minutes, and he’s not even close to finishing prepping the store!

Watching the other two for just a moment longer, Bucky turns away from the window to go count the register.


	2. Stellar First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clint puts his foot in his mouth and all Bucky wants to do is his job.   
> And maybe see if he can corner Kate to get more information from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give up here's the next chapter!

The next day, Bucky is in the middle of cutting a new set of keys for Mrs. Jones, a regular, when the chimes above his door jingle, alerting him to another customer. Glancing up, he sees it’s Clint, and nods at him before returning to the machine. Nearby, an overly excited Danielle hangs out of her mom’s arms, hands planted on the counter, as she watches Bucky’s actions with rapt attention.

“Can you still see?” He asks, amused. Not many people are too interested to see how keys are made, especially once they see Bucky going over to the machine instead of doing it by hand. Usually they just idly gaze at the walls, silent, which Bucky doesn’t mind—with the machine, it only takes a few minutes, max, and isn’t really interesting to watch. While manually cutting can be fascinating to those who don’t know how to make keys, it’s too time-consuming for Bucky, and he generally avoids it. But Danielle seems to be the exception; she practically scrambles up the counter every time she comes in with her mom, and asks a million questions at once whenever Bucky does something she’s not seen before.

It amuses him to no end. He would let her behind the counter and test the machine out for herself if it wasn’t so hazardous, and if she wasn’t so young. So he never voices the idea, partly in fear that Jessica would actually say yes. 

At her daughter’s ecstatic nodding, Jessica huffs, but a smile still breaks out on her face. She readjusts her grip and looks over at Bucky. “You know, I can’t tell if she’s just excited over something new or if she’s secretly filing all of this away to later become a master criminal.”

“Both, probably,” Bucky chuckles as he runs the new key against the spinning brush to clean off the edges, “considering she’s your kid.”

Jessica smirks. “Thanks for the compliment, Barnes.”

She may not cuss in front of her daughter, but Bucky knows a veiled “bastard” when he hears one, and he laughs. 

She shifts Danielle in her arms when Bucky walks back to the counter, holding both the new and old set of keys in his hands, grinning. With practiced efficiency, he loops the sets onto their keyrings and slides them over, but gives it a second thought, and instead hands them off to Danielle. The girl immediately busies herself with feeling the differences between the worn keys compared to the new ones, completely awed. Bucky adores her.

“Knew you would want to do that,” he says, and punches the total into the register.

Behind them, Clint’s phone rings, and he whips it out of his purple coat pocket to answer it. “Katie-Kate,” he quietly breathes out, quiet, probably trying to be respectful, and it’s all Bucky hears before he refocuses his attention on completing the current order.

Jessica pays quickly and heads out, lightly reminding her daughter to not drop the keys, and the two wave at Bucky through his window as they pass by it. Bucky smiles as he gives a little wave. He really adores both of them.

When he looks over, he sees Clint is still on the phone, half-turned toward the window, looking incredibly frantic. He doesn’t even seem to have noticed Jessica and Danielle leaving, too involved with talking to Kate.

Well, listening and stuttering, more-like, as his friend apparently talks over him every time he opens his mouth.

“Listen—I—no I _still_ don’t know where they are! I didn’t—” Clint pauses to hear Kate talk. Bucky busies himself with cleaning the metal shavings from the bottom of the machine. “I’m _here_ now, and I’ll—no, _you’re_ repeating yourse—” It doesn’t take long, and with nothing else to do, Bucky just awkwardly leans on his counter, waiting. “ _No_ , Katie, you don’t have to come in, I’m handling it!”

At least he’s got a nice view, Bucky thinks, as he watches Clint bite his lip and run his hand through his hair. As if sensing him staring, Clint glances up and starts when he makes eye contact with Bucky.

“Kate, I gotta go— _yes_ , I’m asking him—what, _no_ —listen, gottagobye!” By the time he’s walking over to the counter, Clint’s ears are a little red, and Bucky finds it adorable. Straightening up, Bucky smiles at him.

“Hey, Clint.”

Clint raises a hand in an awkward wave. “Hi, uh, Bucky.” He hesitates before saying Bucky’s name, almost as if he had to remember it, which Bucky thinks is a lot less adorable.

“What can I do for you?”

And Clint practically deflates in front of him, mouth working silently for a second before he throws up his hands in defeat. Groaning, he says, “I lost my keys.”

“Well, you’re in the right place for some new ones,” Bucky chuckles, and Clint gives him a small smile. “Home or work?”

Clint winces. “I thought both, at first. But then I found my apartment keys in my truck, so not those. I dunno where my work keys are at though.”

“Alright. D’you got the spare ones with you?” Bucky holds his hand out, the right one, for the keys.

Clint actually slumps against the counter, letting out a long whine. “I did, but I lost those too!” Bucky almost rolls his eyes but stops himself. “Katie’s got a set, but she’s gone, like, an hour away right now on a call. She’ll be in later thankfully, but I was supposed to open like thirty minutes ago!” Clint starts anxiously tapping his fingers on the wood, and Bucky is frankly a little surprised at how quickly the other man got comfortable on his counter—he’s practically laying across it.

Bucky leans back slightly to check the calendar on the wall, and nods. He has no other appointments, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem if he leaves.

“No big deal. I can come over and make you some temporary ones from your locks.”

Clint’s head shoots up, mouth dropping open, and it’s nearly comical how vividly his emotions show on his face. “Holy shit, _thank you_.” He breathes, completely relieved, and hops away from the counter.

“Sure thing.” Bucky grabs a few soft-metaled blank keys off the rack, and fires off a quick text to Steve, just in case his friend comes in early. He then grabs his bag and coat before stepping around the counter, making sure to lock the door behind them.

The snow still lazily drifts around them, falling much lighter now, and Bucky turns his face up to watch the flakes twirl in the wind. It’s warmer now, and he unbuttons his coat as they wait to cross the intersection. Next to him, Clint huffs.

“How are you not freezing?” He asks, voice muffled by the top of his coat. He had immediately scrunched up against the cold the second they were outside, zipping his coat up practically to his ears and stuffing his gloved hands deep into his pockets. Clint’s cheeks and ears are already bright red, and he huffs a little every time the wind blows in his face.

Bucky shrugs. “I was…stationed in a cold area for a long time.”

That seems to perk Clint up because he looks at Bucky with interest. He scrutinizes him, taking in his whole person, and Bucky waits for the usual question. “Army?”

“Army,” he confirms, and leaves it at that. They finally approach Clint’s front door, and Bucky smirks when he spots the flurry of footsteps in the snow. “Got really confused when you realize you lost them, didn’t ya?”

Clint sees the snow tracks too and he lets out an embarrassed laugh. “Ha, yeah. Was kinda hoping that I had just dropped them in the snow.”

Bucky clears away some of the snow that piled up against the door so he can set his bag down in the cleared spot, and crouches to inspect at the lock. He gives the handle an experimental twist, just to double-check it’s locked, and turns to look up at Clint. “This won’t be too bad—easy, even. You’ve got one of the simpler locks, so this’ll probably take no time.”

Clint smiles, just a hint of it showing over his coat, and bounces a little on his feet. “I so owe you for this, man.”

“That’s what money is for,” Bucky replies lightly while opening up his bag, and Clint laughs.

The lock is a deadbolt, the most typical kind installed on external doors, and Bucky grabs one of the brass keys of the right size. He sticks the key handle into his gripping tool, jiggling it to make sure it’s secure, and then uses a small file to lightly shave the key shaft down to a smoother surface. He can hear the sound of Clint’s coat crinkling as he shifts behind him.

 “So…what are you doing?” Clint speaks up, and leans over Bucky slightly to get a better view.

“Impressioning.” Clint only gives a confused noise, so Bucky continues, “I pretty much yank the key around in the lock to make some marks on the blank and then file it down until the key unlocks the door.”

Bucky inserts the key into the lock and does exactly that, turning it clockwise as much as he can before rocking it to fully hit the cylinders, then returning the key to its original position, and going counterclockwise. He repeats the process a few more times before smoothly pulling the key out.

Cling barks out a laugh. “ _Seriously_? That’s how it’s done?”

“That’s how it’s done.” Bucky uses a small magnifying glass to inspect the marks made on the key and then grabs a pippin file to shave into the side. He then sticks the key back in to shake it around in the lock again.

“Never thought it’d be so easy,” Clint sounds incredibly amused.

“It’s not, really,” Bucky pulls the key out again and files in another cut. “I just have good enough eyesight to see the marks a lot quicker than other locksmiths. Plus, practice helps.”

“Good eyes, huh?” There’s a threat of a bubbling laugh in Clint’s voice, and Bucky looks over at him. True enough, Clint’s grinning and he takes a hand out of his pocket to point at his sign. “Join the club.”

“Hawkeye Extermination?” Bucky understands before he finishes saying the shop name, and nearly groans. Which is probably a good thing since Clint’s grin only brightens as he puts his hands on his hips.

“Chose it because hawks have good eyes to see and catch their prey, just like me and Kate!”

“Lord, this is just like your signs,” he mumbles as he wiggles the key in the lock, but there’s a smile threatening to break out on his face. Taking it out, he examines it, and then gets an idea. “Wanna test that boast there, Hawkeye?”

Clint rapidly blinks a couple of times before quickly nodding his head. Bucky turns around to wave the key in Clint’s direction. “Go ahead and show me where the marks are, then.”

He does it more as a joke than a challenge; Bucky doesn’t actually expect him to be able to find the marks. They’re usually so miniscule that even he sometimes misses them until after he rocks the key in the lock a few times. But Clint goes completely serious, his lips set in a thin line as he practically glares at the key, turning it in his now un-gloved hands to better see any marks.

“There’s one,” he says, confidently, and keeps his nail on the filed edge as he passes the key back to Bucky. Their hands briefly touch, fingers brushing against each other, a little deliberately on Bucky’s end, and he can’t help but smile at the rush of excitement that runs through him.

So he might have a crush. Sue him.  

“Bullshit, you couldn’t have found one. You didn’t even bring the key close to your face!” But as Bucky examines the key under the magnifying glass, he sees that Clint was right—on the third cut, there’s a small scratch against the edge where he should file down. He looks back up at the other man, eyebrows raised in surprise.

Clint just shrugs and gives a cocksure smirk. “I see better from a distance.”

“That sounds ridiculous.”

Clint laughs. “Yeah, my commanding officers used to say the same thing.”

This makes Bucky pause, and he turns to look—to really look—at Clint. He takes in his height and build, hidden as it is underneath his purple parka, and notes the way the blond stands, feet shoulder-width apart and shoulders back. He saw up close the old scars and calluses on Clint’s fingers when their hands touched, and Bucky supposes it makes sense. The guy’s got Army written all over him.

Well, mostly makes sense. He’s not sure how Clint can still be so accident-prone after the training the military puts their soldiers through.

It’s then that Bucky realizes that Clint’s fishing, trying to glean more information from him, and he reflexively tenses, frowning deep as he automatically analyzes the situation, trying to figure out Clint’s intention. Glancing back at the other man to gauge his demeanor, he sees that Clint hasn’t moved, has his hands at his side but visible, and even has a gentle smile on his face. He looks unassertive enough that it calms Bucky down, and he manages to slowly relax his shoulders.

It takes a conscious effort to remind himself that all Clint’s trying to do is get to know him better—he’s a friendly, a fellow serviceman simply interested in his background.

Clearing his throat, Bucky tries to keep his voice light as he asks, “You were Army too, then?”

Clint hums in confirmation, rocking on his feet. If he truly noticed Bucky tensing up, he doesn’t say anything. “Yup. Sniper. Deployed a couple times before I got out a few years ago.” His rakes his gaze over Bucky’s hands and smiles a little. “This actually reminds me of a mission I was on before.”

Bucky’s eyebrows go sky-high. He wasn’t expecting _that_ rank. “I was too.”

“Shit, really?” Clint looks amazed, not expecting Bucky’s answer, and eagerly leans in close to him. “Holy shit, small world! When were you in? I didn’t deploy for the first time until 2010.”

Bucky knew these questions were coming; they always do whenever he accidentally or vaguely mentions his military involvement. Right after he got out, Steve had warned him about the questions people will ask, even prepped him through answering them, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less uncomfortable to actually go through the ordeal, even after all these years. Not while it’s still fresh in his mind, not while he still gets twinges of pain in his left shoulder.

“2008. Stationed in Germany and Russia for a few years.” It’s his standard answer, never giving anything more, but Bucky’s words still come out clipped. He busies himself with the key, giving it a little more attention than is probably necessary to ignore the small ache in his shoulder. It’s barely there, more of a phantom itch than anything, but it makes the winter air around him seem colder, harsher.

Clint hums. “So you were already deployed when I started training. Makes sense.” He crosses his arms and then nods toward Bucky’s left arm. “Is that where you lost your arm?”

The sharp sound of the key scraping against the deadbolt as it misses its target is almost as loud as Clint’s yelp of “wait, _shit_!”. Bucky goes rigid, hands going still as he sucks in a surprised breath, his eyes immediately zeroing in on the silver fingers in front of him, still clutching the gripping tool. He can’t help but count every metal plate that forms the digits, and his body gets hot with anger.

He snaps his head around and snarls out, “Is that when you lost your common sense? Or just your hearing?”  

“Fuck,” Clint curses again, wide-eyed, and throws his hands up. “Fuck, shit, _shit_ , Bucky, I didn’t mean to say that, I’m—” Just then, Bucky gives the key a savage tug and it jerkily, mercifully, turns all the way to the right. Both men can hear the audible sound of the door unlocking. Bucky wastes no time in pulling it out, smoothing down the sharp edges, and testing it one more time before he slaps the key into Clint’s hands.

“Done.” He packs up his tools and stands faster than Clint can form a sentence, and jabs a thumb at the door. “Just show me the others.”

Clint stays rooted to the spot, his mouth working as if he’s going to try to apologize again, but at Bucky’s heated glare he just winces, shoulders drooping, and silently leads Bucky inside. His shop is roughly the same size as Bucky’s, maybe even larger, with a grey concrete floor and dark purple walls. The color makes Bucky inwardly scoff a little—purple is not the first choice he would’ve thought to pair with a business specializing in killing bugs. Iron shelves line almost every inch of the side walls, packed to the brim with various pesticides, rodent traps, and even a few piles of toy bugs and animals. Where the walls are actually visible, there is a hodgepodge of posters advertising the services offered, diagrams detailing the anatomy of bugs, and even a few pictures of Clint and Kate. The store’s packed with all kinds of stuff; it’s like the complete opposite of Bucky’s own shop, with its beige walls and few pictures hung up.

Looking absolutely dejected, Clint silently takes him behind the counter to a wall of chain-linked fencing that must guard the more dangerous chemicals, and points out the two smaller deadbolts. “Those, uh, use the same key, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem,” he says. Bucky just nods and starts pulling his tools back out, not once looking at the other man. Clint hangs back for a second, awkwardly drums his fingers on the counter, and then nods to the register, even though Bucky can’t see the action. “I’ll just, be over here then. In case you need me.”

Once he isn’t looking, Bucky discreetly rubs at the area where flesh meets metal under his sweater, frowning, before he inserts the new key into his gripping tool and gets to work.

The store goes blissfully quiet, soothing Bucky’s nerves, but it doesn’t last once Clint begins prepping his store for opening. He’s being careful in his movements, trying not to make too much noise, but the deliberately soft sounds grate at Bucky’s ears, screwing up his concentration. His mind drifts, going from Clint’s comment to his seemingly real distress over it, and then back again. A small spark of sympathy traitorously blooms in his chest over the blonde’s severely drooped shoulders and pained expression, but Bucky quickly crushes the emotion, filling the space instead with pure irritation. Because even if Clint hadn’t meant to actually bring it up, it doesn’t mean that the only thing he really noticed about Bucky was his manmade arm, and had probably been waiting for the right time to ask him about it. Just like everyone else Bucky’s met since he was discharged. He’s had enough experience with people looking at him strangely, prosthetic or no, that he can’t quite quell the simmering anger.

It's not even the arm itself that riles Bucky up. He can appreciate the prosthetic; it gives him a certain freedom he had lost, and it saves him from struggling as much in the smallest tasks. Plus, he’s had over five years to grow accustomed to the arm, and the metal doesn’t even catch his attention anymore, so used he is to the flashes of shining silver in his periphery—it’s now just as natural to him as his old flesh one was.

No, what bothers him is the reactions he gets to the arm.

Not everyone, of course. There are people who simply try to act like they don’t notice a difference when they interact with Bucky. They usually aren’t very good at it; he can easily track the direction their eyes go, slipping down to his arm when they think he isn’t looking before snapping up to meet his eyes when he’s facing them. But they give an honest effort, something that Bucky respects if nothing else, since he can understand on some level their curiosity, even if it can be annoying.

But Bucky would take the polite staring over the pushy, nosey questions any day. Those people, those _strangers_ , who march up to him and essentially demand that he give up his life story—the mission, the capture, the torture—until they’re satisfied enough to move on, or to use him as an example. More than once Bucky has had to look down at a wide-eyed child as their parents explained the effects of war as if he was nothing but an exhibition, and the feeling of being a sideshow attraction had left him nauseated for days. At first, he used to fight them, standing his ground to argue about how his life was none of their business, but he has learned to shut these kinds of people down real quick, uncaring of their indignant sputtering as he stomps off.

Veterans seem to be one of the few exceptions, or are at least smart enough to approach the subject gently only after getting to know him, which is why Bucky’s even more shocked by Clint’s casual yet sudden way of asking. Today is the first time he’s been around the guy for longer than five minutes; he barely knows Clint, and, physical attraction aside, certainly isn’t willing to divulge anything to him yet, even if they’re both Army. Hell, he might not ever share anything with the blonde, now that Bucky knows he’s one of _those_ people.

The thought makes him use a little more force than necessary when he rocks the key inside the lock, and he silently curses. He has to be careful, or he could actually break the key in the deadbolt, and then he’d have to spend even more time at the store. He doesn’t want to talk to Clint, doesn’t even want to look at him; he knows that all the other man will see is his left hand, with its metal plates that whir quietly whenever he moves, and hear the way the fake fingers clack against the fencing. The phantom ache hasn’t dissipated, and it’s making Bucky claustrophobic. Especially with the way Clint just hangs around near him, carefully dropping coins back into the register as he counts them.

When the electronic bell rings somewhere above Bucky, he sighs deep from relief. _Finally,_ someone else that can occupy Clint’s attention.

“Kate?” Clint asks, incredulous.

“ _You_ ,” Kate growls out, pointing a finger into Clint’s face. The single syllable fills the room, cutting through the air, and makes even Bucky pause, eyes flicking up in interest. She’s going to yell at him. _Good_. “ _You_ are an outrageous idiot, you know that, Clinton?”

“What are you doing here? You were, like, an hour away!” There’s a light crash of coins hitting metal as Clint drops the handful back into the register, giving up on counting them. “I said you didn’t have to come in until later—I’ve got it handled!”

Kate just scoffs at him, making her way to the back of the store. “It was like forty-five minutes ago when you so _nicely_ ended the call, Clint. So, tell me, which window are we gonna have to get replaced after—” Kate’s boots suddenly stop, and Bucky knows she’s finally spotted him. “Oh.”

But then there’s nothing after that, and the key rattling inside the lock is only sound in the store. Bucky shifts uncomfortably—is it really that jarring that he’s here, doing his job? When he glances back, he sees that Kate’s facing Clint, and both of their hands are flying in the air in a silent conversation.

Bucky’s cheeks flush slightly, and his bottom lip pulls down into a scowl. Could they be any more obvious that they’re talking about him?

Then Kate lets out a short, frustrated, “ _Clint_ ,” before she marches behind the counter, ignoring her friend’s sputtering.

“Hey there, handsome!” She cheerfully greets, grinning at Bucky when he looks up at her. He smiles back at her.

“Hi, Kate.”

“I’ve gotta admit, I really wasn’t expecting you to be here—I definitely thought Clint was lying when he said he was going to you,” she says, slipping out of her jacket and throwing it over the back of a nearby chair. Bucky laughs a little.

“I was in his shop when you called me!” Clint squawks indignantly in the background.

“ _So,_ thank you for taking time out of what was probably a busy day to help out this guy,” Kate pokes a finger in Clint’s direction, smirking. “You probably saved me hundreds in window repairs.”

“I wouldn’t have broken a damn window just to get in!” Clint whines, sprawling out over his counter. At that moment, the bell rings as a customer comes in, and he hurriedly straightens himself with a grimace. “Oh—good morning!”

Kate waits until Clint walks around the counter before she crouches down next to Bucky. “Hey, but no really, thank you for this.” Her smile softens as she tucks her hair behind an ear.

“No problem. It’s in my job description.” Bucky shrugs. He jiggles the key in the lock and, guessing by how much the key turns to the right, he figures he’s more than halfway done.

“Yeah, okay true, but it’s definitely appreciated,” Kate hums. “I also wanna say sorry, you know, for Clint.”

“For what he said, or just him in general?” It’s meant to come off as a light joke since she’s not at fault, but he’s still not exactly ready to let go of his annoyance, and it comes out harsher than he means for it to. He winces slightly.

“Both,” Kate immediately fires back, unbothered, and laughs softly. “Clint’s…Clint. He sometimes has trouble picking up on social cues.”

“Really.” Bucky says, deadpan, and then snorts.

“Yeah. I think he just got excited about meeting another badass sniper, y’know?” Bucky scoffs in reply, and Kate’s grin gets bigger. “And when he gets excited, he kinda loses, like, _all_ of his common sense, as you now know. I don’t know if he’s apologized yet—I don’t even know why he did it—but I _do_ know he’s really sorry, and _definitely_ feels like shit about it.”

Frowning, Bucky’s movements slow as he listens to Kate. He just stares at the key in the lock, flesh hand loosely gripping the tool while his metal fingers hook into the chain-link fence. He knows Clint didn’t mean anything malicious by his question—he was curious, trying to fill in all of the blanks in his mind, just like Bucky would have done if he wasn’t the one with the arm.

Just like Bucky _did_ when he first saw Clint’s hearing aids. Back at the town meeting when he had first met the blonde, he had noticed the purple peeking out over Clint’s ears while they shook hands and they fascinated Bucky; he wanted to know the cause for them, whether Clint had them from birth or not. But once he realized what he was thinking, an intense bout of shame quickly smothered all of the questions—he was doing exactly what he hated being done to him, without meaning to, and he had quickly retreated to the edge of the group, feeling terrible.

Granted, he hadn’t actually _asked_ Clint about them, so there’s still that.

Bucky taps his fingers against the links, listening to the small _tings_ as metal meets metal. Kate, thankfully, stayed silent as Bucky tried to work out his thoughts, and he eventually shrugs.

“I get it.”

“Plus,” Kate says, in an explosive whisper, as if she had been just _waiting_ to add more, “Clint gets really dumb when it comes to someone he thinks is cute.”

“What—” Bucky whirls around right as the bell rings again, and Kate jumps to her feet.

“Hello, sir!” She cheerfully greets, and moves away from a stunned Bucky without a second glance. He’s left there, crouching behind the counter, as the two exterminators help customers, and Bucky can’t help but study Clint’s profile with renewed interest.

“Well,” he quietly says. Catching Bucky’s gaze, Clint looks over at him only to quickly jump his gaze back to the customer when Bucky doesn’t look away, and Bucky finds he likes the way that small act is enough to make Clint stutter slightly when answering the customer’s question. Already, he can feel the lingering tension bleeding out of him with that new piece of information.

He supposes he’s always had a weakness for baby blues.

Turning back to the key, Bucky sees that he’s practically finished, just needs to file down the sharp points so the key can be inserted more smoothly, and then he can get paid and will be able to get back to his own shop. Except now Bucky’s not too sure if he wants to leave, and his hands slow slightly. Maybe he can stick around for a little longer, see if he can corner Kate to get more information from her.

The constant shifting of emotions is a little dizzying for Bucky; he’s painfully aware of how quickly he folded after talking to Kate, and he shakes his head at himself. It has been one hell of a long morning.

From behind, he hears a small, tentative “hey”, and he turns to look up at Clint with his small, hesitant smile, and _really_ , there was absolutely no reason for the light streaming in from the window to create a halo around the blonde’s head. But it still makes Bucky’s heart speed up, just a little, and he silently curses.

He’s _definitely_ going to have to talk to Kate.

“Hey, yeah, I finished the key.” He replies lamely, stretching up to drop the thing in question on the counter. Clint’s smile brightens, and he leans over to pick it up with a whoop, even waving it triumphantly.

“Man, you seriously saved my ass with this!” Clint says, careful to keep his voice low enough so that the customers can’t hear him. Using his body to block his hands from the customers’ view, Clint points in their general direction and rolls his eyes. “They wouldn’t shut up at first about how we didn’t open at our regular hours. Said we should’ve posted a sign or something so they wouldn’t have had to wait around in the cold for us to finally open.”

“Yeah?” Bucky answers for lack of anything better to say, already turning to pack up his things. Clint doesn’t answer for a moment, and Bucky realizes that the other man was trying to test the waters, to gauge how angry Bucky still was at him. Glancing back, he sees Clint leaning on the counter, twirling the key in his fingers and frowning a little.

“Yeah.” Clint responds, giving him a halfhearted smile.

Bucky sighs inwardly before standing and shrugging on his coat. He opens his mouth to add more to his comment, to try to lighten the conversation, but Kate then walks up to the counter with the customers in tow, and Clint’s forced to move away to make room for them to set their purchases on the counter. He doesn’t move far, just slightly off to the side so he can wait for Bucky, but his frown hasn’t left his face.

“So,” he says once Bucky’s made it around the counter and is walking toward him, “how much do I owe you?”

Bucky supposes he’s blown it with furthering the previous conversation so he simply rattles off the totals. “But I usually don’t have people pay for this kind of thing until after I give them the new keys.”

Clint nods, though looks a little confused, so Bucky adds, “Need to make sure the new set works before I make you hand over all that money.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” Clint replies, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, and Bucky takes this as his cue to leave. Clint does follow him to the door, though nothing else is said between them.

Before Bucky can head to the door though, Clint reaches out to grab his sleeve.

If Bucky had still been angry, he probably would have shrugged Clint’s hand off of his arm, but instead he just stares curiously at the hand. He notes that Clint’s grabbed his left one, and he wonders if it was deliberate.

After ensuring that Kate was still busy with the customers, Clint takes his hand away, and Bucky frowns.

“Look, I just wanna say sorry for what I said—it was totally uncalled for,” Clint mumbles, rubbing at the back of his head awkwardly. “I can be an idiot sometimes.”

Bucky smirks. “Yeah, I seem to be hearing that a lot today.”

“What—oh, you mean Kate.” The blush is back, a light flush on his ears and cheeks, and Clint ducks his head to look up at Bucky in embarrassment. Bucky has to cross his arms to stem the sudden flipping of his heart.

He shrugs again, not sure how to answer, but this seems to spur Clint on because he pitches forward a little, hands now dug deep into his pant pockets as he rushes out, “Do you like coffee?”

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up and, immediately, Clint’s face scrunches slightly with a wince and he quickly coughs to cover the sharp rise in his voice, but he’s not meeting Bucky’s eyes—in fact, he’s looking everywhere _but_ at him—and the blush has darkened into a nice bright red. All Bucky can think about is how those burning cheeks clash terribly with blonde hair in a cute kind of way, as he mulls over Clint’s question. 

Apparently diving headfirst without any follow-up plan is a normal thing for the guy.

Bucky purses his lips; he can’t decide whether he is willing to get used to that kind of trait.

“I just found a great coffee shop nearby, I dunno if you’ve been to it before since you’ve been here longer than me, but we could give it a shot?” He adds, eyes flicking to Bucky momentarily before looking away to stare at the ceiling.

Bucky doesn’t answer, instead taking a moment to study the man in front of him. Clint looks like he’s about to hit the ceiling with how tightly wound up he is, and Bucky’s starting to feel bad for the guy. Though that doesn’t stop him from deliberately asking, “What?”

“Or, like, a beer, if you don’t wanna do coffee?” Clint’s persistent, Bucky will give him that. “Just, you know, so I can make up for earlier.”

The corners of Clint’s mouth are starting to pull down, and Bucky immediately backtracks from playing deliberately obtuse. Instead he shrugs and gives a carefully relaxed nod. “Okay.”

Instantly, all nervousness evaporates from Clint’s body, and he’s now practically buzzing with excited energy as he bounces slightly on his feet. “Awesome! I’ll come by after we close to drop off these keys and then we can go out—” At this, Clint sputters as he tries to backpedal, “uh, not _out_ but we can go and get a drink and food or whatever as thanks and sorry and everything?”

Clint looks so embarrassed that Bucky tries to save him by giving what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Okay. That sounds great.”

In response, Clint outright _beams_ at him, eyes bright and face still a little red, and it’s the cutest thing Bucky has seen in a while that he stops breathing for a split second, too engrossed in the sheer attractiveness of the other man.

He’s going to give him a bigger discount, Bucky decides, for that grin alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I actually had like 98% of this written when I posted the prologue. But then the 2% refused to want to be written so that was fun. Hopefully you guys enjoyed the chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I can't take total credit for the Discount-Tents joke. My Shakespeare professor used to make that joke all the time when he would talk about an old tent store in his town. But, I'm at least giving myself points for applying it to an extermination business lol
> 
> Overall, I'm in a rush to post before winter is officially over (even though today's the first day of spring but we're ignoring that), so I'm just putting the prologue up for now. I'll post when I can, but school is eating up much of my time so it might be awhile in-between chapters! Sorry in advance!


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